


Be Iest Lîn

by mr-finch (soubriquet)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Top!Sam, Water Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 05:32:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soubriquet/pseuds/mr-finch
Summary: A fic of a fic. What happens when Frodo leads Sam away from Gimli and Legolas in TAFKAB'sIntrusions.I recommend reading that one first.





	Be Iest Lîn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



_There’s nothin' for it,_ Sam thought, _I’m gonna have to go._ He clasped Frodo’s outstretched hand at last, gritting his teeth together, and heaved himself up onto the rocks.

He could only hope that the brief dousing in the frigid water had been long enough to quell his arousal, but he did not dare look down to check, staring instead at the ground, then at his hand where Frodo held it. Leaving Gimli and Legolas behind, they stood there naked as the day they had been born.

“Where are we going?” he asked, choked with the image in front of him. Frodo was half-turned towards him, his pale skin glimmering in the sunlight and wearing one of those fine smiles the like of which he had not seen on him since Rivendell.

“Into the water, silly!” Frodo laughed and pulled him forward by the hand, skipping over the slippery rocks towards more of the elven pools.

Sam wished for the kind of balance Mr. Legolas had, that he might close his eyes entirely and spare Frodo his gaze. Not that Frodo seemed to care about it, cheerful as he was hopping from rock to rock.

Miraculously, Sam kept his footing as his thoughts strayed, until Frodo pulled them up short facing a larger pool and he had to scramble to avoid bumping into him.

With his back to Sam, Frodo gazed out at the water. “This one will do.”

He let go of Sam’s hand then, and, shooting one mischievous look over his shoulder that had the look of a Took, Frodo flung himself in. It wasn’t graceful, no - more like a stone than a swan - but it gladdened Sam’s heart to see Frodo that way again. He would give up his own cares any day to see that.

Frodo surfaced with a splash and waved at him to join him. “Come on!”

Sam’s reluctance must have come through in the way he hesitated on the rocks, suddenly feeling terribly exposed and not one bit too keen to join his master in the water. Frodo kicked his way over to the far end, where the water grew lighter and Frodo could stand without swimming.

Sam was glad that the butter-smooth skin of Frodo's abdomen broke where it touched the water and the body below it was no longer visible. “Go on,” Frodo said. "It’s shallow and warmer over here, Sam.”

Seeing no way out, Sam started to pick his way over there on the rocks. “All right, all right. I’m coming.” Being careful where he put his feet, he didn’t look up until he was halfway there - when Frodo had strode further into the shallows and no long stood covered by the water.

The rock gave under his foot and Sam wheeled his arms, dropping down into the gasping cold of the pool. It snatched his breath away, leaving him stunned and blinking, air seeping through his lips. He fought the water’s grip on him, paddling his arms and kicking out the way Frodo had, thinking it could not be that deep, he could not be that far away—

Arms encircled his chest from behind him and tightened, dragging him upwards.

Sam broke the surface with a splutter and a cough and splashed his arms out, seeking purchase and release from the arms that held him. When the body behind him didn’t let go and instead guided him gently over to the shallows, Sam realised what held him and felt a hot blush rush through his ears.

“I’m sorry,” Frodo said into his ear, which sent the blush down his neck, “I should not have let you go on your own. It was cruel of me.”

“No, no,” Sam spluttered, half of his mind furiously occupied with not imagining what touched him. Not the soft, smooth chest of his friend, or his arms - thinner now - or, or— “I’m a silly fool with two left feet and it ain’t your fault I can’t swim.”

Frodo - thank the heavens - let him go then and swam around to face him. “No you’re not,” he said, touching a hand to Sam's shoulder. “But I should have realised. Or at least led you round to the shallows with me!”

“It’s no bother, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, but he could not suppress a shiver at the touch, which drew a frown from his friend.

“You’re cold. Come here,” Frodo said, and Sam obeyed him this time. As Sam strode hesitantly forward in the water, Frodo drew him into his arms - so soon after he’d left them! He turned Sam to face away from him, his back against Frodo’s chest, and settled them down on the mossy rock of the pool’s bottom where the water reached only their chests.

Trying not to feel Frodo’s breath in his hair, Sam cast around wildly for a subject matter. “Don’t tell me I’ve ruined your fun, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo’s hands rose to cover Sam’s upper arms and began to rub him there, most likely seeking to warm him up, but it made Sam’s condition suddenly much more apparent. “I wouldn’t like to be causin’ you any sadness,” Sam managed to squeak, frozen in place and hoping Frodo could not see past Sam’s shoulder.

Frodo didn’t laugh that heart-melting laugh, but he did lean forward to speak close to Sam’s ear, and his voice was fond and carried a hint of amusement. “My Sam,” he said, and his hands clutched Sam’s arms gently. “You’re more important than a swim. You’re part of the fellowship of the ring.”

“Only a very small part of it,” Sam admonished, glad that Frodo couldn’t see his proud blush. He smiled to himself, just a little, then his heart nigh on stopped as Frodo hands touched his. Sam hadn’t realised he’d been digging his nails into his elbows until Frodo gently pried one of his hands loose, closing both of his own around it.

“A brave swordsman needs his hands,” Frodo said, as he ran his fingers over Sam’s palm, circling his knuckles with his thumb. It was surely done to return feeling there after the cold plunge, but it wasn’t working. Sam felt as if all of the feeling left in him was shooting downwards, to where he was unbiddenly hard.

He couldn’t speak, so he watched with his cheeks burning as Frodo warmed first one hand then the other in front of him. Frodo lifted both hands as he finished, drawing them back so that he could blow hot air onto them. A low throb whipped through Sam and he bit back a sound.

“I should be bathin’ _you,_ ” he said, his voice breathy, desperate to find a way out of his predicament. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but I’m not the one the cave troll clobbered. You need tending too, and all.”

Frodo hummed with thought and Sam shivered again, the vibrations passing through both their bodies. “Perhaps,” Frodo said, his hand on Sam’s shoulder half-turning Sam to face him. “But you still feel cold.”

Sam, who was freezing except for the base of his abdomen which had grown hotter than Moria, gave Frodo an non-committal noise.

Frodo sighed and smiled at him. “You take care of me too well, Sam. You always have.”

Sam turned without thinking towards that sight, leaning into Frodo’s hand. “Well,” he said, and Frodo began to rise, Sam following.

A sparkle of elven laughter broke the silence between them, Sam jerking his head to find the source. He was sure they were laughing at him. Frodo chuckled, before breaking off into a hiss and Sam looked back at him.

It was even worse, seeing him up close - pale and pretty and unimaginable - especially with the water now only pooling around his waist, but what caught Sam's eye just then was the bruise Frodo had gained from Moria. A mottled grey and mountain blue, it fell over Frodo’s ribcage like a shadow. Winking out from the centre was a tinge of yellow, like a sick pus in a dying fungus.

“Oh,” Sam said. He stilled his fingers, which had strayed towards it, but Frodo took them instead and pressed them flat against the bruise. His blue eyes spoke pain, but also determination.

“You won’t hurt me, Sam,” Frodo said, holding Sam’s hand there. “Your tending never could.”

Half-faint and sure he had left his wits somewhere several days prior, Sam nodded mutely and tilted his head to look closer at the wound. “Set yourself down, Mr. Frodo. Rest yourself while you can and I’ll sort this.”

Frodo complied, sitting himself down in the water with his back to the rock. Baring himself entirely to Sam, if only he would look. Swallowing hard, Sam knelt in the shallows and took the cloth Frodo gave to him. He wet it and wrung it several times, trying to concentrate just on the size of the bruise and not the way it clung to Frodo’s side like a lover, or the touches of dark hair in the crook of Frodo’s arm as he raised it to give Sam more space, or the flushed nipple that stuck up in the cold. He shut his eyes before he could do worse.

Taking a breath to steady himself, Sam placed the tips of his fingers on Frodo’s hip to anchor him and leant forward to examine the bruise. Some of the darker markings, he realised, were not injury but dirt from the trip they had made. Very carefully, he smoothed the cloth across the outer edges of the bruise to rid Frodo of the muck.

“Not so bad as it looks,” he said, dipping the rag in the water before pressing it back against the wound. Frodo made a little noise and Sam’s eyes darted to him, guilty. “Sorry. It’s just—“ he sighed, “You’ve half the dust of Moria on you, and it’s sure I’m no better.”

Frodo exhaled and shook his head. “I want none of that place’s shadow on me. I’m sorry to ask you to do this, but,” he smiled a weaker sort of smile, “It hurts to raise my arm, and... I’m braver when you’re around.”

The praise going straight to his core, Sam returned to his duties with new vigour and infinite gentleness. Taking in everything that Frodo could not reach without lifting his left arm, Sam spread the cloth across Frodo’s chest and ran it down the soft underside of his arm. He dabbed the scarring skin over Frodo's heart where the wraith had stabbed and then he circled the bruise, wiping away both blood and earth.

Frodo inhaled when Sam touched the bruise again, closing his eyes. Determined not to make him suffer any more than he already had, Sam spread his fingers on Frodo’s belly and drew himself closer alongside so that he may be as steady and gentle as possible.

Frodo shivered when next the rag brushed his skin and Sam found himself muttering a host of words of comfort. Bracing his thumb on Frodo’s hip, he tilted Frodo away from him, onto his side, so that Sam could reach the fringes of the bruise stretching around Frodo's torso. That seemed to be the part most covered in dust and sweat from their travels. Even though he went carefully, Frodo's pulse quickened under Sam’s palm and Sam resolved to finish as soon as he could.

“It’s all right, Mr. Frodo,” he murmured, pressing the rag to the sharp angles of Frodo's shoulder blade as he held him there. “Soon be done.”

“Will you?” Frodo responded, equally as quiet, and Sam finished his shoulder without quite knowing what to say. He returned Frodo to his back, resettling his hand on Frodo’s belly and dipping the rag in the water. This would be the hardest part. That flash of yellow in the bruise goaded him, a fallen sun in a dark sky, as if it knew it could have taken Frodo into darkness. His hand stilled before he could reach it.

“This might hurt, though I'll do my best,” Sam said, and when Frodo did not reply he touched the rag to the centre of the bruise, right where yellow met black.

Frodo arched, gasping aloud. His fingers scrabbled for purchase on the moss, sending up little splashes of water, and he shut his eyes again, but not before Sam caught the look in them: wild and tense. Sam mouthed a soft sorry, then touched it again, the fingers of his other hand holding Frodo still on his belly as he jerked.

He had to circle it one last time and then it was done, and he had no reason left to touch Frodo, but he couldn’t help himself after what he’d done. Sam laid himself down into the shallows beside Frodo and pulled him gently closer. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” he said, his thumb making unconscious circles of comfort where it still lay on Frodo’s belly. “I couldn’t stop it.”

Frodo was breathing hard with the effort and Sam swore he could even feel him trembling. He chided himself harshly, squeezing his eyes together. All of those promises to help Frodo he’d made, and what did he go and do? Hurt him even more.

Frodo must have felt him go still, for he turned his head towards him. Sam did not open his eyes, ashamed, until a tickle touched his nose. His eyes flew open, only to stare into the wide, fey eyes of his friend. “Mr. Frodo?”

“Don’t stop, Sam,” Frodo breathed, and his hand covered Sam’s on his belly, pressing it down against the soft trail of hair that lay there. Sam had tried to forget his arousal in the face of Frodo’s pain, but it came back to him then like a punch, so hard that his flesh twitched, nudging the curve of Frodo’s hip.

“What are y—?” he began, but his words fell into garble as Frodo pushed his hand still lower and carded his other hand into Sam’s hair, pulling Sam half on top of him.

Their faces were so close they were almost touching, an intimacy he’d never had with Frodo. Nor any hobbit, if he was being honest. And as for the other intimacy— Sam gasped as his hand touched Frodo’s arousal and found it waiting for him.

Arching into his touch, Frodo brought their lips together and moaned into his mouth, sending another one of those punches through Sam’s system. His face was on fire and he knew his cock touched Frodo’s belly, but he lost all sense of himself as Frodo’s tongue met his, their lips joining and breaking like waves in some impossible sea.

It was more than he’d ever dared dream for, and he kissed Frodo with all of his need. His hand closed uncertainly over Frodo’s arousal and hesitated, but then Frodo’s hand left his and circled around Sam’s cock in turn, drawing an unbidden moan from his throat.

He clutched Frodo with more confidence then and ran his hand upward over his flesh, his thumb stroking across the head, and Frodo wriggled beneath him, breathing sharply between kisses as he stroked Sam in return.

He did not know where the courage came from to do it, but Sam found himself nudging Frodo’s knees apart with his thigh and half straddling him, bracing himself against the rock as he leaned over Frodo. “Please,” Frodo whimpered below him, clutching at Sam’s hair. “Please, Sam.”

Sam shut his eyes, as if it would stall the fire in his chest. He pushed himself into Frodo’s hand and stroked Frodo at the same time, aching at the way he responded. The bruise had dropped beneath the water and now all that Sam could see was the pulse in Frodo’s neck, the tuft of black hair at his breast like a feather and the tautness of his nipples. The way his lips stayed parted, even though they were not being kissed. The haze in his blue eyes.

Sam squeezed and circled Frodo’s arousal with his hand, finding out what did what to him, too captured by the sight in front of him to realise he was fucking Frodo’s hand in time to the rhythm he set.

Helpless to stop it, Sam kissed him again. Frodo tilted his head up towards him and Sam covered his mouth with his, then cried out as Frodo bit his lower lip. It sent a bolt of fire through him that demolished everything it touched and he came in thick white ropes on Frodo’s stomach, his rhythm stuttering as the feeling rode over him.

When he opened his eyes, Frodo was looking at him with his eyes half-lidded. He guided the hand not currently occupied with his cock to his mouth and kissed it languidly, leaving wet marks along Sam’s fingers.

Sam’s cock gave one weak throb in response and he sped up his hand under the water, watching as Frodo slowly lost his will to the feeling. As Sam's knee slipped and he readjusted himself, his hip bone nudged Frodo’s side. Frodo yelped in pain and came hotly in Sam’s hand, writhing and twisting and murmuring something over and over again.

They lay there without speaking for a while, until they could both breathe again. Sam’s head rested against the crook of Frodo’s shoulder and their hair lay tousled together, hands joined, still half-submerged in water. Sauron himself could have approached them there and Sam would have ignored him. There was not much, if anything, he could or would compare this to.

Eventually, it was Frodo who stirred. “Sam,” he spoke, into his hair. “I fear our friends may follow us.”

Sam huffed a laugh and raised himself on one hand, twining his fingers further into Frodo’s. “I don’t care if the whole Shire turns up now, Mr. Frodo. They can wait til I’m done talking and that’s the truth.”

Frodo smiled, something slight that cracked into a wide, all-encompassing smile. “Even Merry and Pippin?”

“Even Mr. Legolas,” Sam said, “Elf of the fair lands that he is. There’s nothing fairer than what lies here and I’d tell him so.”

Frodo grinned and threw an arm around Sam, pressing them close together. “My Sam,” he said. "Oh, my Sam.” After a moment, he pulled back and glanced down between them, a soft blush covering his cheeks. “We may need to bathe ourselves again.”

Sam sighed and shook his head. “Don’t tell me you need more washin', or we’ll be here all day!”

Frodo’s smile grew even wider and a spark of mischief danced in his eyes. “You know, I have many more places I can’t reach.”

Sam went crimson. “Get in the water and be off with you!” he blustered, pulling back into the pool. Frodo ran in after him and came up to splash him, laughing. “Hey!”

Back at the other pool, the elf and the dwarf relaxed next to each other, listening to the laughter of the halflings as they shrieked and splashed.

“That’s ten gold pieces you owe me, lad,” Gimli said, lowering his pipe and smirking at the elf.

“What say you to another wager?” Legolas shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Twenty gold pieces says the next two will know before Minas Tirith.”

Gimli’s grin deepened and he blushed dark. “You’re on!"

 


End file.
